


Wednesday Afternoon

by A_simple_lee



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28504914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_simple_lee/pseuds/A_simple_lee
Summary: Season 1 fluff. Following up leads for Jon sucks, but your colleagues make the job a little more bearable.AKA author is a massive simp for Tim and wanted to write fluffy shenanigans w him
Relationships: Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives) & Reader, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	Wednesday Afternoon

The morning hasn’t necessarily been bad, but you’re tired. Commutes on the tube tend to have that effect on everyone, and you’ve had more than your fair share of those - hopping on the train to the British Library for some records was as tedious as could be expected, and after spending precious minutes squinting at tube maps and dashing between platforms, the records you'd retrieved had barely helped with the statement in question. Today has just decided to feel longer, it seems. You sigh.

You’re not expecting Tim to sneak up behind you for a hug in the break room, but it's welcome nonetheless. 

"Afternoon." There's a grin in his voice.

“Hello to you, too.” Tim lets you extract yourself from his arms so you can turn on the kettle. Both of you lean back against the counter. You eye the ostentatiously patterned, partially unbuttoned shirt Tim's wearing, and vaguely remember Jonathan’s double take upon seeing his assistant’s outfit this morning. "Boss isn’t letting you get away with that ensemble, is he?”

“'course he is. Wouldn't dream of having a go at his _favourite assistant_." He puts a hand to his chest with a flourish.

"Pfft. No, really. What did he say?"

"Oh, you know, the usual. Something about decorum and how I'm lacking - as if he can talk with his _corduroy blazers_. What I lack in professionalism I more than make up for with charisma. Can’t say the same for him."

"He _is_ stuffy. Tea?"

“Massive understatement. Yes, please.” Tim types something into his phone. It makes a cheerful blipping noise.

“Sash and Martin are out investigating a lead, but we're hoping to pop out for chips later - care to join us?”

“Sure, sounds good." You reach towards the top shelf for some mugs. "Why does Martin have to- _oof_ \- put all of these at the back? It's hardly fair."

"It's perfectly fair, you’re the only short one here." Tim grins, tweaking your side. You flinch away with a poorly concealed yelp. Both of you freeze.

It’s Tim who speaks up first. “ _Oh?_ ”

“Tim-” It’s too late. He’s already reaching out to poke you again.

“Are you ticklish?”

“No?” The fact that you’re already letting a few giggles slip doesn’t help your case at all. Tim continues making pincer motions towards your sides, and at first you manage to dodge him, stepping back each time he tries to reach you.

And then your back hits the wall. _Shit_.

“Tim-”

“Yep?” He’s got a spark of mischief in his eyes, and a grin that’s starting to bring a blush to your face. His hand makes contact with your lower ribs, squeezing gently. Your hands fly up to cover your mouth.

“Wahait-” The dam breaks, and streams of your badly muffled laughter stream into the break room. Tim lets out a triumphant little “aha!”, only encouraged by your reactions.

“You are ticklish! Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” He smiles, shifting closer to hold an arm around your waist so you can’t sink down against the wall.

“The tea! I need to make the tea!” You gasp out between hysterics, trying to push at his shoulders but finding it doesn’t do much. 

“But you’re cute when you’re being tickled.” Tim states smugly, chuckling at the flustered noise you make.

“Tim!”

“You’re blushing~”

“Shut up!”

He gasps, trying to sound offended. “Did you just tell your best friend to shut up? I could report you for workplace bullying, you know, I’m the Archivist’s _favourite_ assistant.”

“Plehease-” You whine, turning to hide your face as best you can.

“Please report you? Well, since you’re asking so nicely-”

“No- that’s not what I- Okay, I’m sorry- don’t report me-” 

“Are you sorry?”

“Yes!”

He sneaks his hands under your arms, and you let out a yelp before falling into another bout of hysterics. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, I give, I’m sorry-” You tap his arm a couple of times, weak from laughter, and he finally releases you.

“Apology accepted,” Tim watches as you readjust your shirt with a huff before heading back to the countertop. 

“That was rather mean of you.” You sigh, trying to wipe the smile off of your face as you reach back up to get out the mugs. Tim, inevitably, shifts closer, and you shoot him a wary glance, concerned he’ll try to poke your side again. He holds his hands up, the picture of innocence.

“Nah, it wasn’t mean...” He hesitates. “Was it mean?”

“...No, no. Not really.” You switch the kettle on. 

“You’re still blushing.”

You almost tell him to shut up a second time, but think better of it. “Stop pointing it out.”

“Never.”

“...There’s a lot to hate about you, Tim.”

“No, you love me really.”

“Did I say I didn’t love you?” You screw the cap onto the milk and place Tim’s mug next to him. 

“Aww, look at you getting all soft. Is Martin rubbing off on you?”

You roll your eyes. “Just drink your tea, Stoker.”

“Love you too.”

Suffice to say, the rest of the day more than makes up for your shitty morning.


End file.
